


Muddy Tears

by Snyuuk



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Tsukishima cries salty salty tears, a life story, non-graphic smut with lots of emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:25:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5802439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snyuuk/pseuds/Snyuuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima is waiting for Kuroo to laugh at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muddy Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to de-anon myself from the km, because I honestly really enjoyed writing this! But I'll tell you what, this is definitely not the couple I thought I would be writing for first in this fandom. And yet here we are. (Not to say KuroTsuki doesn't have a certain kind of charm to them, because they certainly do.) 
> 
> Original prompt from the kink meme: 
> 
> "all i want is for tsukishima to cry during sex  
> for any reason: pain, humiliation, being overwhelmed/overstimulated, etc  
> it can be with anyone but kuroo or oikawa preferred  
> lots of emphasis on the crying"
> 
> Enjoy!

The first thing that comes to Tsukishima’s mind is how seriously, horrifically, unbearably _uncool_ this is.

And it’s not like he… means to do it.

Well, that should be a given. Who _means_ to cry during sex?

But here he is. Kuroo deep inside him, making his body shiver involuntarily, his arms wrapped tightly around the former Nekoma captain, with tears disrupting his already foggy vision without his glasses. And they won’t stop. They can’t. It’s mortifying.

He’s waiting for Kuroo to laugh at him, waiting for him to give him that terribly smug smirk that peels over his teeth, and to rain thoughtless jabs onto him. Because, honestly, that’s what Tsukishima would do to himself in this situation. But he doesn’t. Kuroo has the complete audacity to look concerned, his hips stopping their gentle shifts and thrusts, and his hand untangling from Tsukishima’s fingers so that he can lightly swipe a thumb over his paler cheekbone.

“Tsukki, hey,” his firm voice is enough to make Tsukishima’s arms shake. “What’s wrong? Does it hurt? I can sto—”

“Don’t.”

It’s one word, but it still wavers on his tongue. It comes out like a sob, and Tsukishima quickly bites his lip to keep himself from making any other embarrassing noises. To convey the message further his hand flies a bit too forcefully to the small of Kuroo’s back, keeping him in place, and his hips shift up into him insistently.

Kuroo groans behind his teeth, his eyes forcing shut like he’s restraining every movement in his body, and Tsukishima can see how his forehead is swiped with sweat and how his eyes are pinched in desire. Still, he doesn’t move.

“I’m not gonna do this if you don’t want to,” Kuroo says sternly and Tsukishima just shakes his head.

“I want to,” his voice hitches on another wave of tears. “It’s just…” He thrusts his hips up again, making a soft noise that mixes with his already soft moans at the feeling of Kuroo inside him. He hopes that’s enough for Kuroo to keep going without him having to be any more honest than his salty tears are being for him.

Kuroo leans forward to kiss the tears off his cheeks, lapping them up with his tongue one by one as they fall. It’s comforting and it’s sensual and it’s everything Tsukishima needs, “Just?”

“I-Intense,” he trips on the word. And now he knows for sure that Kuroo is going to laugh. Maybe he’s not so much of a dick to laugh when he thinks Tsukishima’s hurt or forcing himself or unhappy or something equally ridiculous. But Tsukishima is sure this time that he’s being pathetic enough to warrant at least a chuckle.

When that doesn’t happen he’s not sure what to do, and it breaks an even bigger leak in the dam in his chest. Kuroo is all soft touches and careful movements and understanding eyes and it swallows Tsukishima up until he feels like he’s sinking deeper and deeper in warm, calming waters. Kuroo moves his hips, pulling out and back in at a steady pace that is in no way demanding, and it forces Tsukishima’s mouth open around a groan.

“Let’s take it slow, okay?” He says, _breathes,_ into Tsukishima’s ear and all he can do is nod.

It’s ridiculous because he’s had sex with Kuroo plenty of times before. In fact, he would dare to call it an almost annoying amount of sex. Ever since that training camp in high school years ago it was as if he was never able to shake him off. Kuroo Tetsurou elbowed his way into Tsukishima’s life, bowling over reason with desire, and solitude with an aggressive sort of friendship until Kuroo clung to every waking thought of Tsukishima’s.

But it’s taken this long, years of ignoring and curiosity and caution and teasing and late night texts and even later phone calls. Years of banter and kissing and fucking and waiting at train stations and waiting at coffee shops and waiting for Kuroo not to show up and waiting for Kuroo to leave and waiting for the day he walks away.

And it’s taken this long to say everything that’s been on his mind which, narrowed down, is a pretty simple topic, because not much _other_ than Kuroo has occupied that space in his head for a while now.

Tsukishima marvels at the amount of times Kuroo doesn’t laugh at him. Because other than crying during sex, there’s not much lamer than that.

But Kuroo’s fingers are tangled in his, and Tsukishima grips the welcoming hand. Kuroo’s forehead is pressed onto his, his mouth stealing soft, open-mouthed kisses whenever they can. Kuroo’s hips are sliding against his in a sweet and deliberate rhythm.

It occurs to Tsukishima that this is Kuroo’s answer.

He’s waited so long to hear something so different that he doesn’t know what to do when the foundation below suddenly seems so stable. His feet were walking on thinning ice on a warm and sunny winter day, and the sun feels nice but he’s waiting for his feet to slip and fall and plunge him into the reality of what this season really means.

Instead his feet suddenly find the edge of the lake. A shore that’s muddy and dirty and no matter how hard Tsukishima pounds against it he can’t fall through, so all he can do is let the grass grow around him.

All he can do is cry.

Where there are usually low, primal moans and deep scratches in skin, there is now soft breaths growing faster and mixing together in the sex-soaked air. Each thrust pushes more tears from his eyes until his chest is rising and falling violently from both the sobs lodged in his chest and the pleasure Kuroo is filling him with.

Kuroo is watching him, never once allowing himself to close his eyes for more than a few seconds, and Tsukishima is staring right back into that sharp, understanding expression. It’s so fucking embarrassing, and he can feel his cheeks and chest burn. But he feels like he’s being embraced, being clung to.

Even if his ankles are the ones desperately anchoring Kuroo to his body, even if his hand is the one digging into Kuroo’s back to keep him close, Kuroo is the one holding onto him with all his might. With every ounce of his body Kuroo is trying to keep Tsukishima there, with him, around him, beside him. Tsukishima can see it so clearly in his eyes it’s as if he’s reading him from the other side of the net.

And it feels so good.

Kuroo’s hips turn slightly erratic as they both begin to reach their limit, and Tsukishima is squirming under him, forcing himself to meet the pulse of Kuroo’s hips. He feels so in synch, so _connected,_ to Kuroo that Tsukishima wonders if they’re even sharing the blood that courses through them as if in one frantic heartbeat.

When Tsukishima comes it’s quieter than the near screams that he knows Kuroo can grind out of him, but the soft cry and hysterical breaths seem to fill the room entirely. Kuroo lets out his own sharp gasp from the back of his throat and follows shortly after, pulling out of Tsukishima so that he can tie the condom and settle beside him to stroke his hair.

By now his tears have mostly stopped, and what’s left of the sudden attack are tangled breaths and uneven sniffles and _surely_ Kuroo’s going to laugh now. Now that the moment has passed, and the tension is winding away, and lust laden words of comfort are no longer necessary.

Kuroo doesn’t laugh.

Instead, he flutters kisses onto his face, and strokes his arm comfortingly. He turns Tsukishima onto his side so that he can spoon him, brushing his lips on the back of his neck and saying nothing, not even looking at him, so that Tsukishima knows that he can keep crying if he needs to. Kuroo’s arms are so strong and so warm, and his bare chest against his back feels like home. His eyes want to slip closed, and his body is heavy and sleepy and begging for rest and, shit, has crying always been this _tiring_?

“Sorry,” he mumbles under his breath, drowsy and still embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” Kuroo punctuates it with another kiss. “It’s all okay.”

It occurs to him that Kuroo probably, for whatever reason, isn’t going to laugh at him at all. It’s the last thought in his mind before he falls asleep.

 

 

 

 

When Tsukishima wakes up in the morning, Kuroo is still wrapped around him. He doesn’t notice the already dried tears that have fallen on the back of his neck.

Kuroo is smiling against his hair in his sleep and it feels like spring.


End file.
